FAILURE’S STING

 I was happy. Very happy. I had finished my examinations for the semester and you know that feeling. It was like I had won a lottery. I was glad that the semester had ended, no more reading, rushed lectures, hunger strikes and overnight assignments. It was over. I don’t know which one made me happier, the end of the semester’s struggle or the success of the examination generally.

I went to the back of the chapel and for the first time in a long while I sang praises and worshipped God. I danced and rejoiced. I was indeed very happy. The paper I had just written which was the last of the examination papers, was one that gave me a very tough time. I struggled to read and understand it and I knew I had to pass it else I would have to carry it over. I read my best, though it was hectic but
it was over now. I proceeded from the chapel to the café to have a nice time browsing. I loved to browse.

The semester was over and the holidays set in. all was well and when the semester resumed, it was time to check the last semester’s result. It was always a time of mixed feelings. You swing between the hope of having a good result and the fear of seeing an unexpected grade. I never really feared for my result. I knew I wasn’t the best in the class but I was above average and I had my confidence intact.

I got to the board and I checked my Grade Point then proceeded to see the individual grades I supposedly made. I looked through them in the row that had my matriculation number and I was a bit settled on the grades until I got to the course I had written the last. It was not what I expected. I know I didn’t have much hope. If I had scored an “A” I would be surprised rather than happy but guess what stared me in the face?

A very big “F”. I had failed. I couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it. It can’t be possible. I left the notice board. I would return to check my result when I was ready. I did return and the grade refused to change. I had actually failed. The first time ever I could remember. I was mad with rage. How could I fail? I never prepared for this. I did not know how to handle failure. I was devastated. I wasn’t thinking of my parents or what my friends would think of me. I was…I can’t even say how I felt. I was not myself. My face became long. I was emotionally wounded. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t shame. It was a letdown of me by me.

I couldn’t take it. I cried. I wept in prayer and asked God what happened. I had danced and praised him believing that all was well and here I was soaked in tears, devastated. I prayed and queried why I had to fail. I knew the course was no friend of mine but not to this extent. The lecturer was one of my most respected teachers. He was a father, elderly and very well read. He understood the course and would not even think of having a hand in my failure. He didn’t even know me to start with. I knew all this but I still decided to see him. I needed to be convinced. I couldn’t take it. I wept myself back to the hostel.

The next day I took my time and together with some other students who also failed the course we all trooped to his office. Some may have gone to plead their case, I wasn’t in any mood to plead, I just wanted to be sure that it was my result. We entered his office and he regarded us with respect and courtesy. It dawned on my again that this man couldn’t be the cause of my failure.

I called out my matriculation number and he looked it up. I told him that I didn’t expect to fail at all. He looked at me and smiled. He asked about my physics and mathematics background. I told him I have never been found wanting in my previous schools. He looked again at the result and looked up to me and said.

“Your problem is from your background”

Did I hear him well? My background? Does he know my background? I knew he meant no offence and it dawned on me that once you fail, you have invariably given yourself over to unsolicited advice, presumed assumptions and unconfirmed conclusions. I could still feel anger rising in me. Angry that I hadn’t made any progress by coming to see him. I walked past those that were trying to plead with him to reconsider them and left the office. I could see a lot staring me in the eye. I would have to do something difficult. I would have to mount the course and face whatever I had to and that I did.

I had to retake the course. It was not funny. I could see my juniors in the same class and I looked so overgrown in their midst. I didn’t show how I felt but it was not a good feeling. I decided I had to always be early to the class and sit in the front rows. I paid attention like I was gunning for the office of class rep. I never asked a question because I didn’t feel this was my class at all. It wasn’t my class. Period.

I understood the course out of shame, anger and embarrassment. My juniors greeted me so respectively but every time they added “Sir” to the salutation, I felt over aged. I felt like they were reminding that I wasn’t their mate. I suffered more from psychological issues more than just the effort to understand the course. I didn’t last more than one semester in that class. The examination was better because everyone was well spaced and it felt normal. I went through it and I came out with a “C”. It was a relief.

Words would fail me to explain what I went through during the retake of the course. I wasn’t made to be uncomfortable but the sting of failure was almost unbearable. I felt my prayers were not answered. I thought of people who could have cheated and made the papers but I knew that such thoughts were just preempted because of my present position. I grew after that. I learnt firsthand what it meant to fail. It wasn’t glorious and anyone who insinuated that I didn’t do my best was wrong. Anyone who would think I was academically weak was far from right. I did my best. I did what I always did-my best yet I FAILED.

I learnt that anyone is susceptible to failure if necessary measures are not put in place. It has helped me to be calm with my students sometimes because I have been there. Some of them do not know yet that I put pressure on them so that they wouldn’t have to face what I faced because not everyone can handle issues and not everyone recover in record time. It’s better not to fail than to work on handling it.

When I mark my scripts I do my best to be alert, not to deny anyone his deserved mark or apportion marks that are unmerited either. I flinch when I see how students waste marks right from the tests and proceed in like manner in the examinations, then later hope to pass. I put in considerable effort when passing knowledge across to dependents of such knowledge, yet when it comes to accessing them, I am not partial not for any reason but for the fact that I believe in one knowing his true strength. I knew mine when I failed and likewise when I passed.

I never want to fail again. I do my best and add a little extra just in the case that my best is not good enough. I have grown beyond some levels but as far as one is still on this earth and learning continues, if one must excel then one must beware of the challenge of failing and do what it righteously takes to pass and be a success.

I have failed before and I hope never to relapse into such state again. If you see me working hard, if you think I am a perfectionist or a workaholic, if it seems I want to know everything and handle all situations, if you can’t really tell where I belong and my specialty, if you think my being vast is primarily for a show-off then you haven’t understood that it hurts if you could prevent a thing and yet fail to.

It hurts to fail and I don’t like being in any form of hurt. Do you?